Sunday

A quiet day. I wrote this in my free-writing group:

When he put the beast in gear, it purred like a kitten, roared into life, then just as quickly sputtered, coughed a cloud of black smoke, and died.

“I think it’s busted,” Frank said.

Bill grunted, twisting the key in the ignition. “Might’ve flooded it,” he said.

“Might have done,” Frank said. “You check the tank?”

“When the hell was I s’pposed to do that?” asked Bill. “Barely had time to roll the damn thing off the street. ’sides, you see a gas tank?”

“So you didn’t drive it?” said Frank.

“What?” said Bill. “Nah. Took the boys an hour just to crack the door open, dupe this key. No, we used the truck.”

“So you don’t know if it drives at all.”

“What? ’course it drives. That dumb bastard drives the thing all over town, doesn’t he? When he’s not using that, whadyacallit, Bat-plane or something.”

“And you’re sure it’s his?”

“Of course I’m sure. Him and the Commissioner were standing right next to it not ten minutes before we rolled up.”

“How’d you know it was the Commissioner?”

“What? Dude’s got that big mustache, got shot at during the last city parade. What d’ya mean how’d I know it was him? Next you’re gonna be asking how I knew it was the Bats.”

“He was wearing the costume.”

“Dude’s always wearin’ the costume. That’s how we knew it was his car.” Bill tried the key again. “Though it’s not like there are lots of other cars look like this.”

“You check for booby traps?” asked Frank.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t ask that,” Bill said. “Like this is some kind of amateur hour.”

“I’m just saying. The last guy who tried lifting these wheels, that Cobblepot guy? That guy’s got billions, big operation, and the explosion still took out half a city block.”

“Dude calls himself the Penguin,” said Bill. “Like I said, amateur hour.”

“So fine, you checked for booby traps. You’re the one said you couldn’t find the gas tank.”

“Look,” Bill said, “this beast is streamlined, custom-made. They don’t roll Batmobiles off the assembly line. They don’t include any user’s manual.”

“You check the glove compartment?” Frank asked.

Bill just stared at him, mystified.

“You did check the glove compartment, didn’t you?” Frank asked. He reached in front of him and opened it up. The user’s manual was right there. “Yeah, you’re real professionals.”

“Hey, it’s an honest mistake,” said Bill. “It’s just — um, hey, what’s it say about flashing red lights? On the dashboard? If there are flashing red lights on the dashboard, kind of a — I dunno, a countdown or something?”

Frank sighed. He undid his seatbelt and opened the car door. “I think it means we’re gonna lose this city block, too,” he said.

“Goddamn booby traps,” said Bill. “I knew we shouldn’t have out-sourced that key duping to the Joker.”

It’s admittedly silly, but I had fun writing it.

That was Sunday.